Halo: Advent
by Mr. Gruntsworthy
Summary: Fifteen years after the Ark incident, humanity slowly rebuilds itself back to its former glory. However, even with a ceasefire with the former Covenant Empire, plenty of threats remain, eager to re-spark the galactic conflict that almost wiped humanity from existence. Behind the scenes, a rag-tag team of Spartans fight to secure peaceful relations with the galaxy at large.
1. Prologue

**1:35 PM, March 4, 2568 (Civilian Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani system, MIKE NOVEMBER facility on Planet Reach**

The Spartan-II known as 'Judge' was an imposing figure, even for a Spartan supersoldier. At a staggering eight feet tall and weighing five hundred pounds, he stuck out like a sore thumb even amongst his fellow Spartans. In the dingy, cramped waiting room of the Mike November facility, he could feel the sideways glances of the other military personnel in there with him.

The entire Spartan program, of course, had been de-classified during the war with the Covenant alien conglomerate-even turned into a major source of morale for the UNSC. Even civvies were well-apprised of the Spartan's existence. In the old days, Judge and his fellow Spartan-II's could operate in relative anonymity. Now, ironically, the Spartan program was pretty much the public face of UNSC operations. Even in the waiting room he was currently standing in, a few PR posters lay up around on the walls, with the Master Chief's image plastered on it. A man, of course, who Judge had nothing but the ultimate respect for.

Judge felt a drop of sweat roll down his face, coming to a stop at his chin before gently falling off. His dark skin was starting to glisten under the overhead lights; the temperature in the room must've been at least thirty-five degrees Celsius. The presence of so many people in such a cramped space certainly didn't help matters with the humidity, either. It briefly reminded Judge of a cramped Pelican troop bay during a rapid atmospheric descent.

_Those were the days,_ Judge thought to himself. It had been a while since the last time he had been in a good old fashioned combat drop-as of late, he'd been doing more of the 'get in, get out, don't let anybody see you' type of missions. _Ever since _Hood _appropriated me, anyways._

"Spartan King-068?"

Judge, who had been staring straight ahead at the wall in a straightforward at-ease stance, finally moved at the sound of the receptionist's voice. A wave of inadvertent reactions to his sudden movement oscillated around the room.

"That's me," Judge answered rhetorically, his deep, baritone voice making the receptionist recede into her chair slightly. It only took two or three deliberate steps before he was in front of the desk. The petite 5-foot receptionist had to strain her neck to look up at the massive dark Spartan before her. Though she was trying to hide her fear, Judge could see past her forced smile.

In fact, there were a great many things Judge could tell about this woman: The way she had her head tilted slightly one way towards him told him she was slightly deaf in her left ear. A slight twitch in her facial expressions betrayed a trauma she had suffered in the past and was still overcoming. No movement in her left wrist gave away her Carpal Tunnel syndrome. Even a faint red flush to her cheeks told Judge that she was slightly attracted to him.

Judge, like all Spartans, was highly trained and expert-level in numerous op-related fields, from Covenant weapons technology to basic physics and calculus. However, there was one unique trait that Judge had-and what was responsible for his nickname: His unnerving ability to read people. Within a fraction of a second, he could take in the subtle nuances of people and places. This gave Judge the ability to make a sound decision on-the-spot, and make accurate judgement calls based on immediately-available intel. It was a skill that not only saved his life numerous times back during the Spartan-II's glory days; but was also quite useful in social situations-a category his fellow Spartans were somewhat lacking in.

Judge relaxed his hardened expression a little. He forced his tight-lipped mouth into some semblance of a smile, which looked more like a smirk than anything. The receptionist seemed slightly taken aback.

"Lord Hood will see you now," the receptionist said shakily. She gently gestured to a shallow hallway to the left of her desk. At the end of it was a single door, emblazoned with Hood's full title: 'Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood.' Judge shot the receptionist another friendly smirk and polite nod of the head, before ducking down the hallway to the door.

Judge stood at the door for a moment, taking the time to reflect on the fact that this was the first time-in _all_ of the times Hood has ever met up with Hood-that it has ever been an official meeting of the two. Most of their prior social engagements had been rather private, hush-hush meetings. To be meeting in official Navy offices, something big had to be going down.

Real big.

Judge rapped on the door lightly, for fear of damaging it with his enhanced Spartan strength. He breathed in softly.

"Sir," Judge barked, "Major King dash zero six eight, reporting as ordered."

A split second later, Hood's familiar voice rang out, amidst the sound of shuffling paper: "Judge, is that you? Get in here, son."

In one swift moment, Judge opened the office door, stepped in, closed the door, and snapped to attention with a crisp salute. Though his doctrine meant he had to stare straight ahead, he still managed to take in the state of the often-unused office through his peripheral vision.

Documents and folders lay scattered about on the desk that sat in the middle of the room. Additional papers, both typed and handwritten, sat awkwardly taped to the wall wherever there was free space. The thin layer of dust that had formed over the course of Hood's last absence was disturbed over most of the available floor space, yet to be cleaned off for the decorated Admiral that sat before him.

Hood, who had been sitting at the desk and surrounded by the largest of the paper clusters, stood up and returned Judge's salute. Judge dropped back to a standard stance of attention, his massive hands tucked into a neat fist by his side. Hood seemed to stand there and study the massive Spartan for a minute. The Admiral had definitely lost some weight since their last encounter. The man looked far more stressed than usual, as well, Judge noted. It was at that moment that it was cemented in Judge's mind: Whatever his meetings with Hood were building up to, were about to climax in that small little office.

Hood rubbed his temple, maintaining eye contact with Judge. He seemed to be looking for the right words for whatever he was about to say. He spent a few seconds doing this, before letting his hand fall back behind his back, clasping on to his other hand.

"Judge, we're ready."

Hood's words struck Judge powerfully. He knew what Hood meant, but he had to be sure: "Sir?" he grunted. Hood looked around the room cautiously, and then looked Judge square in the eyes.

"Operation Harmony," Hood said plainly, "is now a Go."

For Judge, whatever level of excitement he was capable of feeling, he was currently feeling it.

Operation Harmony was what Judge was originally conscripted for. It was the sole reason that Judge was appropriated by Hood and now reported to him, and him only. It was because of a shared belief the two had; one that was important to Operation Harmony's success. The operation had been in the planning stage for almost two years, and Judge honestly hadn't been expecting the go-ahead to be so soon. Most importantly, the operation went against the beliefs of ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence. Therefore, Operation Harmony was kept hidden from ONI's eyes; no small task considering ONI was the foremost master of black ops.

ONI, over the years, had developed a strict policy of 'survival of the fittest.' After the Human-Covenant war put a massive strain on the moral obligations of the Navy's governing body, ONI decided to ditch a lot of the moral red tape in favour of raw victory, no matter the cost. This meant that ONI wanted Humanity placed neatly on top of the other species' hierarchal position in the galactic food chain.

Lord Hood and Judge, however, had exactly the opposite belief: Peaceful co-existence. As far as Hood and Judge were concerned, it was exactly the superiority mentality of ONI that had been responsible for pretty much any war ever recorded in Human history. As proponents of learning from past mistakes, the two knew that the best path-the_ only _path-for Humanity to better itself was to co-exist peacefully with the rest of the galaxy.

Put short, Operation Harmony was an ambitious plot to not only unite the species of the Milky Way Galaxy; but also create a council of representatives from each member species.

Out-spooking the ONI spooks was only one of a plethora of obstacles to overcome. The mission was utter insanity in concept, but the two of them were confident that it was doable.

A dusty silence had settled in Hood's office. Hood let out a drawn-out sigh.

"As of this moment, you are authorized to begin the initial stages of the plan as we laid out," Hood said hoarsely. He looked away, seemingly gazing off into the distance.

Judge knew the intense stress the Admiral was under. While the man was not new to the weight of billions of lives on his shoulder, having been mostly responsible for the victory during the Second Battle of Earth; what Operation Harmony proposed was a different kind of intensity all together.

"Have you given any thought to my offer?" Hood asked. He continued his solitary stare into nothingness.

"Yes sir," Judge answered pointedly. "I found three candidates."

"Three?" Hood seemed to refocus his eyes on the wall in front of him. "A four-man squad…"

The both of them knew that Operation Harmony could not be completed with just the two of them. In their previous meeting, Hood had proposed to Judge that he assemble a small team to operate with. The trick was, finding people who would be willing to operate off the grid, and who shared their belief. People with unique talents that would lend to Harmony's ultimate success.

Finding such people was like searching for the needle in the proverbial haystack-but not for Judge. His skills for analyzing people helped him hone in on his three candidates rather quickly. He liked his choices immensely, having spent the past two weeks doing some reconnaissance on them.

"I have their files, sir."

Hood looked at Judge again. He waited for a moment, then approached the massive super soldier.

"Let's take a look then," Hood replied. Judge produced a memory crystal storage card from his pocket and held it out for the comparatively smaller man before him.

Hood took the card and stared at it for a moment, contemplative. He flipped it around, examining the tiny storage device. He turned to his desk, brushing aside a stack of papers haphazardly; giving no care to the fact they toppled over and whipped around the floor. Underneath where the papers were was a data pad, which Hood picked up and plugged the memory crystal into.

Hood touched the pad's screen, and the device blinked to life. A faint glow illuminated the surface of the Admiral's aging features. A few taps on the screen and he was into the document Judge had assembled on the memory crystal, which Hood began reading.

Standing there, motionless, Judge watched Hood pore over the files. He tapped through them at a steady pace; taking enough time to study the information before him before moving on to the next. Curiously enough, a confused expression slowly formed on the Admiral's face as he worked his way through the data. Judge didn't have to read Hood's micro-expressions to see that he did not understand his candidate selection at all.

Eventually, Hood tapped the power-down function on his data pad, and looked at Judge.

"Judge, you _know_ I trust you and your skill set," Hood said matter-of-factly. He raised the data pad, as if to showcase it. "I have to ask, though. What the hell is this?"

"With all due respect, sir," Judge replied, "you gave me free reign over their selection."

"Yes, I did." Hood seemed to struggle internally.

"May I ask what the problem is, sir?" Judge asked cautiously.

Hood's face twitched as the man mulled over the candidates in his head. "Your selection," Hood began carefully, "is rather… rag-tag, shall we say?" He set the data pad down on the desk, and resumed staring off into the distance. "I had envisioned some people… a little more _qualified_ for a mission of galactic peacekeeping."

"They _are_ Spartans and ODST's, sir."

"Barely," Hood replied simply. He glanced at the silent data pad on the desk. "The list you gave me-a _short_ list, I might add-looks like you grabbed personnel straight out of the bargain bin." The Admiral paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Most Spartans and ODST's are highly disciplined. They follow orders unquestioningly, and act on mission parameters to-the-letter." Hood paused again. "These people… do not." Hood sighed. "They're not inept, of course. They _are_ highly trained soldiers, after all. What I have a problem with, Judge, is the fact that they have a history of disregarding authority, and acting beyond, and in violation of, given mission parameters."

"Acknowledged, sir," Judge replied simply.

Hood massaged his temple, letting out a drawn-out sigh of exasperation. "Operation Harmony is important," he stated. "I'm a little bit doubtful that people who can't do what they're told are what we need for this operation." Another pause hung in the air for a moment. "If it wasn't you, Judge, I'd have laughed this list all the way out of the building."

"Sir, with permission, I'd like to explain my reasoning," Judge offered.

"You have the floor, son."

"A mission like this is very different from most operations," Judge began, his deep voice resounding off the walls of the small office. "It's a large-scale operation being tackled by a small squad of men. While the main mission objectives are clear and achievable, the exact details and steps to achieving them were purposefully left vague due to the insurmountable number of variables that could come into play along the way. This is also because you believe my unique skill set can account for this, and that I can deal with any issues as they arise both effectively and with minimal danger to any uninvolved parties. As well, we need to stay out of the eye of both the civilian _and_ ONI, act autonomously without any constant authority supervision, and operate with minimal resources and financial backing."

Hood waited for a moment, before giving a nod to Judge to continue.

"I feel that the qualities needed in a team built for this mission must change to reflect these conditions," Judge deliberated gruffly.

"Like?"

"Camaraderie," Judge answered simply. "I need a squad that not only operates with one another on a professional basis, but one that can intermingle socially, as well. I need men and women who can think for themselves and take action without instruction. I need a sense of honor and passion to be present. And, perhaps most importantly, I need a team that can _represent Humanity._"

Judge could tell that last bit had blindsided Hood. He weighed the atmosphere, before deciding to continue.

"I've had a chance to study all three of them. I've seem them in action, enough to confirm my initial impressions off their records."

The Admiral finally moved, making his way over to the chair at his desk, and sitting down again. He clasped his hands on the desk, rubbing his two index fingers while thinking.

"Just to review," Hood said slowly, "we have the following: You, a Spartan Two, one of the original super-soldiers that has lived and breathed combat since you were six years old, and has a special ability for split-second attenuation of your surroundings; a Spartan Three that talks too much and makes jokes about everything; a Spartan Four who's pretty much mute and has a degree in both engineering and psychology; and an aging ODST who's borderline sociopathic?"

"Sounds about right, sir."

Hood appeared to be at odds with himself, a powerful struggle of decision-making all but apparent on his face.

"Level with me Judge," Hood said, suddenly in a much more casual tone of voice. "You're absolutely sure these are the right people for the job?"

Judge looked the Admiral dead in the eyes. "Sir, yes sir."

Hood let out another exasperated sigh, going quiet. He sat in silence for a good few seconds before his expression sobered up to that of a man who's made up his mind. He stood up, and one again exuded the air of a powerful Fleet Admiral.

"So be it."

.

.

.

Although the majority of planet Harvest had been decimated by the Covenant and glassed like countless others, Humanity refused to give up on the iconic farm world. What little patches of earth remained untouched near the equator were still being used for farming, despite the weather being quite cold due to the glassed surface reflecting the local star's energy. It was also posed no strategic position for the UNSC, which made it dangerously susceptible to whatever remained of the Insurrectionists-as well as pirates, both human and alien.

Harvest's unique condition-although tragic, and the epitome of what the Human-Covenant War left in it's wake-meant the planet lent itself well to off-the-grid activities. The reflective surface made orbital scanning difficult and painful; while the cold, icy surface repelled any would-be adventurers and scavengers. It was precisely these conditions that prompted Judge to pick Harvest as the place of gathering for his new team.

Specifically, he had them report to an abandoned warehouse, far on the outskirts of the remnants of Utgard, Harvest's former capital. Large pieces of aging farm machinery towered over the simple structure, set against the top of an escarpment. The melted, charred remains of Harvest's capital city of Utgard lay in shambles; a powerful view framed dramatically against the warehouse's dim exterior. Night had fallen, and the star light and moon light reflected off the massive planes of glass; refracting and illuminating the complex.

Judge approached the warehouse entrance from the shadows. Fully encased in his Mark Six Mjolnir armor, the black coloring of it made him hard to spot by anybody who wasn't looking. The armor wasn't necessary, of course; but getting up in front of his candidates and telling them what they were about to hear would require powerful imagery. His armor, and the destroyed city backdrop, would serve as a powerful tool to convince them.

Judge checked the time on his Heads Up Display. _Twenty fifty nine hours. Almost nine o'clock. Right on time._ He edged into the building swiftly and silently; knowing that there were four confused soldiers waiting for him in the silent complex. He wanted to get the drop on them; to immediately exert a powerful sense of skill, when he approached them.

These men responded better to personality than chain of command.

No trace of his candidates could be found inside the main entrance area of the warehouse. They _were_ highly-trained soldiers, after all. No trace, yet Judge was certain they were there. The funny thing about his unique ability was that it wasn't always consciously apparent to him what he was sensing or seeing-the more subtle stuff would only invoke a strong instinct or feeling.

Inside the dark, quiet warehouse, he _knew_ his candidates had successfully found their way there. Prompted by orders lost in vagueness, he knew they had no choice but to respond and be here, lest they face major reprimand from the powerful Fleet Admiral who had summoned them there. Hood was a powerful man in that respect.

Sure enough, Judge stopped by the first window overlooking the empty storage bay and seen three figures standing clustered together in the middle of the darkened room. He slipped into the giant storage area without a noise, and made his way up onto the viewing balcony that wrapped around the warehouse. He walked out to a good position to see them before stopping.

He took a moment to take in the scene before him: Two Spartans of different generations, and an ODST stood before him, fully clad in their respective armors. They were painfully quiet; a million unspoken questions undoubtedly bursting to be thrown around. None of the candidates had been informed on any details; including the fact that they would not be there alone.

The clock on Judge's HUD ticked to twenty-one hundred hours. Judge took a deep breath.

"As of this moment, you no longer exist in the entirety of UNSC databases," Judge bellowed, breaking the weighty silence that was pressing down on the dark room. His voice reverberated around the empty cavernous room, powerfully magnified.

A normal person would've jumped a mile straight up in the air, but the highly-trained personnel down below Judge simply gave a barely perceivable jerk of their heads. It was hard to see from four stories up in the air, but Judge could see their helmets swivel around as they tried to identify where the voice had come from. He waited a few seconds to see which of them would have the balls to speak first.

"Spartan Emily, reporting for duty," one of them spoke at last. Curiously enough, it was the Spartan IV-the one that was supposedly very quiet and reserved. Judge noted her voice; it was a mix of a powerful, veteran Spartan with an evident nobility. It was soft and reserved, but tinted with an air of wisdom. Other than that, she stood there quietly at attention, indifferent to the events unfolding. She was neither bored nor excited; just standing there, awaiting what came next. No visible reaction to what Judge just yelled at them all.

_Interesting._

"Sergeant Frank Hardy, reporting for duty," chimed in the ODST. A thick Scottish accent tinted the man's harsh, throaty voice. Far from subtle, the man's voice carried his emotional state quite well: He was simultaneously worried and happy. Judge could tell the man was slightly frustrated, but not about being pulled away and erased from existence-he was bored just standing there. By no means was Judge a mind reader, but he could practically _hear_ the man screaming _'let's get on with the fun!'_ inside of his head. In fact, the bit about being wiped from the annals of the government made him _curiously pleased._

_Curious man, indeed._

"Do we still get dental?" the final candidate spoke out. The last remaining figure standing below-the Spartan-III-cocked his head to the side quizzically, as if the question was serious.

Judge grinned inside his helmet. The Spartan-III had spoken out of line, not knowing who-or what-was addressing them from the shadows. If it was Hood standing there in the shadows, Judge could only vaguely guess at what horrible punishment would be thrown at him.

He had to admire the Spartan's charisma, though. Judge's reconnaissance of the third-generation super soldier had shown him that the Spartan had a strong sense of humor. Even years of harsh Spartan training and the horrors of war hadn't scrubbed his joker personality clean.

It was precisely that manner of personality that Judge needed to tie the group together. Morale management had never been one of Judge's strong suits, and that was one of the particular reasons for picking the Spartan-III down below him. He needed someone to keep the team's spirits high, even through the thickest of situations.

"What is your name, Spartan?" Judge bellowed again.

"Yin B dash One Six Nine," the Spartan-III answered professionally. "Everyone just calls me Radio though," he added.

Judge figured it was a good time to enter the spotlight, both literally and metaphorically. He chinned a control on his helmet, and the floodlights he had fixed up beforehand suddenly shot to life, blowing out the center of the empty storage room in a thick, yellow glow. His visor automatically adjusted for the sudden change in lighting.

He gently hopped over the railing, falling four stories before landing on the hard cement floor below with an energetic thump. A fall that would've broken a normal man's legs did nothing more to Judge than a fall from two feet would have. All three candidates immediately straightened up and snapped to a well-disciplined stance of attention, recognizing the Spartan-II's armor silhouette.

"Nice sir, a solid ten for sure," the Spartan named Yin jested from his rigid attention stance.

Judge approached the trio of soldiers before him, taking slow, deliberate steps. He could almost feel their buring curiosity as he stopped five feet in front of them.

"Helmets off," Judge said simply. The three candidates obliged, unlocking their helmet seal with a faint hiss, and removed their head gear in unison.

Judge took a moment to take in the yellow-bathed scene before him. A person's face told him a lot about their character, motivation, and many other important tidbits. This was his first time getting a close read on his selected candidates.

On the left, the Spartan-IV named Emily squinted under the powerful floodlights. She was easily the tallest of the three, by a difference of a full foot. Her pale white skin shone under the yellow lights; the recesses of her dynamic, elegant facial structure dipped in shadow. Freckles on her cheeks emphasized her noticeable cheekbones. She had soft, green eyes that betrayed her Spartan nature, and her red hair was tied up in a standard regulation bun. The first impression that came to Judge's mind was that of a noble knight. She was wearing full-body second-generation Mjolnir armor, of the Operator variant; dark red with white highlights.

Next to her was Sergeant Hardy. The man was definitely getting on in his years; he was completely bald. His chiselled, battle-hardened face was pock-marked with years' worth of aging and battle damage, further emphasized by the powerful floodlights. A thick brow covered his eyes completely in shadow. Hardy definitely gave off the air of a man you didn't want to mess with on his best of days, lest he tear you limb from limb with a smile on his face. He was wearing standard ODST armor, slathered in olive drab and digital woodland camouflage.

The last candidate in line was Yin-B169, or Radio, as he mentioned. Realizing he was under scrutiny, he pulled a face like a child trying to act innocent. Studying his face, Judge could see past the humorous exterior of the Spartan-III in front of him. Out of the three of them, Radio seemed to be the most experienced in battle. Beneath his front, Judge could see telltale tics of a man who'd killed thousands of Covenant.

Radio's face bore a few minor scars, with only one major scar. It ran across his right eye, which Judge noted had been replaced with a transplant. With a close-shaved head of hair, the Spartan instilled the image of a classic samurai; though if Judge had to peg his nationality, he'd guess Radio was from the People's Unified Korea. He was wearing outdated Mark Five HazOp armor; white with black detailing.

Judge inhaled, readying himself for his speech.

"You do not exist, in any shape or form, in any government-operated database, anywhere," Judge began. "First and foremost: Regular military rules and conventions no longer apply. If you have a question, don't be afraid to ask it."

Almost immediately, Sergeant Hardy raised his hand emphatically.

"Are we here for punishment?" the Trooper growled, sounding almost hopeful.

"No," Judge replied simply. That fact seemed to confuse the three people in front of him, who had apparently been under the impression they were there to be disciplined. Even Radio had dropped his mocking expression, and settled into a state of disbelief.

"Why _are_ we here, then?" Radio asked; some of the humor had faded from his tone. Judge gave him a subtle nod.

"You are here for a mission." The three candidates stood up straighter. "As you know, each of you has unique characteristics that the UNSC takes issue with." Judge gestured to Emily. "Some of you take issue when you're given orders when there's a logically superior way to achieve the goal." He gestured to Hardy. "Some of you don't like operating under a lot of restraints." Lastly, Judge gestured to Radio. "And, some of you aren't willing to give up your social personality. Beneath these traits, there is an underlying self-confidence that drives you. It is that characteristic that made me pick you. You, out of hundreds of thousands of UNSC personnel."

There was a small pause, and Hardy decided to voice another question. "There has to be more to it than that. What's the real reason we're here?"

Judge smirked slyly. "A very good question," he answered. "I pose this question to all of you: What is the one end goal you believe in? In the bigger picture, what is it you've always wanted to accomplish?" The three candidates thought about that for a moment, an expression of realization slowly permeating their faces. They looked at one another briefly, wondering if each of them had came to the same conclusion.

At last, it was Emily who voiced their collective answer: "Peace?"

Judge nodded slowly and deliberately.

"Is that not what we're always fighting for, though?" Hardy growled sarcastically.

"Indeed," Judge answered. "However, a ceasefire is no 'peace.' Your desires don't end there."

After a moment, a look of sudden understanding spread across Emily's face.

"We're going to break out a galactic United Nations, aren't we?" she whispered. It amused Judge how quickly she had jumped to such an accurate conclusion with no factual foundation.

The other two candidates stared at her, beginning to realize that they, too, wanted exactly the same thing. Even the cruel Hardy.

"Seriously?" Radio asked disbelievingly.

"Yes," Judge replied. He breathed deeply. "We are now a four-man squad with a three-tier mission goal. Objective one is to secure communications with the major alien governing bodies. Objective two is to blow the whistle on ONI, and throwing them to the wind for what they're really doing. Objective three is to establish a joint committee of representatives." Judge gave them a few moments for the information to sink in.

"Is this sanctioned?" Hardy asked, with an excited grin.

"No," Judge answered simply. "We are operating outside of the UNSC's curriculum." He paused for a moment to gauge the reaction of his team. "You are not required to be here. In fact, you no longer exist under the UNSC's watchful eye. You can walk out that door right now and live the rest of your life quietly and freely. I won't stop you or punish you."

Nobody moved.

"We do, however, have somebody backing us, unofficially of course. Somebody who shares our belief; somebody with a lot of pull and power."

"Who?" Radio asked.

"Fleed Admiral Lord Terrence Hood."

"Oh. Nice."

Judge was sure that the men and women before him were exactly what he needed to get Operation Harmony done. He had given the opportunity to leave… and none of them took it. They were in on the mission, that much was evident.

"Our team callsign is 'Unity Squad,'" Judge continued. "We will operate off the grid, in sometimes intensely hostile conditions, with limited resources and finances. We have a long road ahead of us, but the end goal is achievable. You all know this." Judge took a moment to study their faces. "Are you in?"

"Creepy hush-hush meeting out in the middle of a planet-sized cemetery, for a blacker-than-black ops mission to usurp ONI and install a galactic governmental body?" Radio asked sarcastically. "I can do without the dental benefits, I guess."

"Aye, I'm in," Sergeant Hardy replied gruffly. "Sounds fun, to be honest."

"Yes sir," Emily replied simply.

Judge nodded again, acceptingly.

"First rule of Unity Squad: There is no chain of command. Only trust and honesty. In the future, you can just call me Judge."

The three Unity members nodded affirmatively.

"Any questions?" Judge asked loudly, his deep voice resounding around the cavernous storage facility. Emily raised her hand.

"What's our first step?" she asked.

"First," Judge replied, "we find a ship."


	2. Chapter 01

**4:21 PM, March 10, 2568 (Civilian Calendar) / Procyon system, New Pirth City, Arcadia**

"Is that her, sir?"

"Yes."

"She seems kinda... young."

Judge and Radio sat hunched at a booth in the corner of Pirth's Place; a crowded pub on the outskirts of New Pirth City. The place wasn't exactly the epitome of modern civilization; but it had a warm, friendly atmosphere, and had enough UNSC personnel passing through that nobody paid the Spartans any mind.

A few tables opposite them, a young European woman sat alone at a table, looking attentive and confused. She had brown shoulder-length hair, parted neatly on her forehead that swept down over top of her ears. She wore business attire; a blouse and skirt combination that gave her a professional air. Her head bobbed around as if she was looking for someone.

"She has a decent-sized ship, and her rate is dirt cheap," Judge growled quietly to his fellow Spartan. "Remember, we're on a very limited budget here."

Radio's eyebrows rose up in a display of digression, but he wasn't finished griping. "She doesn't look like she's the combat-theatre type of pilot. Look at her; she looks more at home in one of the new corporate buildings down the block than at the helm of a ship." He winked at Judge. "She is kinda sexy though. Okay, I admit it… she looks like a keeper."

Judge ignored the remark, keeping an inconspicuous eye on the woman. They were a few minutes early; and he wanted to get a strong impression of the pilot he was about to hire before setting a contract in stone.

He briefly thought about his ace-in-the-hole he had in his breast pocket; a remnant of an old friend. If all else failed, it was something Judge could use to coerce the pilot's co-operation. Or, at least entice it.

"I see you giving here the Eye," Radio said. "You think we're good to go?"

Judge waited for a few seconds. "She looks honest and trustworthy," he answered finally. "Something seems a little off, but I think we can trust her."

"Fair enough. Think she'll buy the cover story?"

There was a long pause before Judge spoke again. "We're ditching the cover story."

Radio shot him an incredulous glare. "Seriously? We're just gonna waltz up to that table and say, 'Hi, we're on an intergalactic, diplomatic missionary mission to bring peace and good will to the universe?'"

Judge knew that the third-generation Spartan was just poking holes at his strategy, but it was one of those on-the-spot decisions he felt was for the better. If the pilot had seemed even the slightest bit seedy, he would've proceeded to feed him a made-up story to keep a lid on their goings-on. However, the woman that sat a few tables over seemed nothing of the sort. A solid posture, firm-but-welcoming facial expression, and alertness told Judge that the bullshit story he'd spun just wouldn't fly. She was the type who would appreciate, and honor, the truth.

The key was to control the rate at which information was divulged.

"Show time," Judge grunted. He and Radio stood up from their booth, and made their way over to the lone woman's table. She became aware of them as they approached, and stood up as she realized they were her customers.

The woman looked at Judge not with fear or nervousness; but rather a strong display of wonder and understanding: She recognized Judge for what he was immediately; there was no doubt of that. Judge also detected a hint of something else; a faint tinge of worried realization, above and beyond the scene before her.

"You must be Judge," the woman said, in a moderate Hungarian accent. She held out her hand at an upwards angle, as she was nearly half the size of the giant Spartan. Judge accepted the handshake, amused that the tiny pilot was brave enough to shake his hand.

"And you must be Sára Sorvad," Judge replied gruffly. The pilot nodded.

"Just call me Sarah, most people do." Ms. Sorvad gestured to two empty chairs on the opposite side of her table. The two Spartans sat down, Judge being careful not to splinter the remarkably sturdy wooden furniture in two.

Judge retained eye contact with Sorvad as she continued to speak. "You had mentioned you were looking for a long-term contract, but wanted to meet in person before going into further details."

"Yes," Judge replied affirmatively. "Long-term, with no fixed contract period. Possibly spanning a few years or more." Sarah's face lit up a little, without losing her serious nature.

"How big is your crew?"

"Four, currently." Judge waited for a second before adding to his answer. "Possibly more in the future." Sorvad nodded in agreement.

"My ship can house a crew of ten comfortably," Sarah replied matter-of-factly. "Even Spartans."

"I like her already," Radio interjected suddenly, before Judge could respond. "I don't have to be my psychic friend here to see that you've had some experience with us in the past." He leaned forward on the table, propping his elbow down and resting his chin on his extended arm. He stared intently at the well-dressed pilot. "You've piqued my curiosity." Judge shot Radio a sideways glance, to get a read on his fellow Spartan's intentions.

There was a long, awkward silence before Ms. Sorvad finally replied. "I… owe my life to one." For a split second, her serious expression broke down to that of a fearful child. She was quick to regain composure; however it was all Judge needed to see that the woman across from him was, indeed, an acquaintance of an old friend of his. It was one of Judge's main reasons for picking this particular pilot.

For Judge, he knew it was as perfect a time as any: He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a metal chain. A pair of dog tags flopped out of the pocket, dangling back and forth; carbon scoring and faint hints of rust tugging at the tag's extremities. He placed it on the table in front of Sorvad gently. Radio, seated beside him, raised an eyebrow in confusion. However, the Spartan kept quiet; receding back into his chair as the conversational focus shifted.

Sarah slowly reached out and touched the battle-damaged dog tags, separating the two pieces gently. She ran her finger across the name emblazoned on its surface, as her expression grew darker and pained. Her eyes were fixed intently on them.

There was another long silence; this one intentionally drawn out by Judge, who let Sorvad's mind work through old memories.

After a minute or so, Sarah looked back at Judge. "Yes," she said softly, "Jorge was his name." She wiped some grit off the dog tags with her thumb.

"He was an old friend," Judge spoke gruffly. He pointedly segued back to the discussion at hand. "I can't tell you the details of the job. Not yet. What I can tell you is that I'm cut from the same mould as him. We shared similar beliefs."

Sorvad picked up the dog tags and examined them more closely. "I'm starting to get the feeling that this job will be more than I bargained for," she replied. Her stress showed through as a heightened accent. "I am only a civilian pilot. I'm not cut out for the insanity that navy pilots are." She had a sudden realization, and looked back and Judge worriedly. "You're not even here on official business, are you?"

Judge gave a slow, exaggerated shake of his head, maintaining eye contact. "You're right. This is off the books."

Sarah receded into her chair slightly. "I don't want any kind of trouble. I'm a civilian pilot. I only do transport!" she declared, her tone increasing.

"That's all we need you for," Judge shot back quickly, before her voice attracted the attention of nearby patrons. "Look. All we need is reliable slipspace-capable transport, living quarters, and a pilot who can stay quiet. We'll handle all the crazy shit." He reached into a separate pocket, and pulled out some folded-up papers. He opened them up and placed them on the table, underneath the dog tag's dangling chain.

Sarah glanced at the papers, scanning the page's details. She grimaced at them. "You really do your homework."

"Business is slow for you," Judge belted unabashedly. "No matter how professionally you present yourself, nobody needs a ship with more crew space than cargo space. Not in these times." He gestured at the page. "You can barely make ends meet. You can't afford to hire on any help. You're in debt." He paused for dramatic effect. "I'm offering you a stable income for the foreseeable future, and some helping hands during downtime. It's a win-win situation, no matter how you look at it."

Sarah's focus faded off the papers in front of her, lost in her consideration of Judge's words. She did this for some time, before she finally replied. "It would make for great security, too. I've had things go missing. It's hard to keep an eye on everything in a ship just by myself." She let out a nervous laugh. "I could use some company too. It gets lonely up there." There was another pause, before she cautiously held out her hand. "We have a deal, as long as you help out."

Judge shook her hand again. "Deal."

.

.

.

"It's not much," Sarah mused, walking down the central corridor of her ship. "I inherited her from my father. Her name's '_Adventurous Endeavours_.' She used to be his personal ship for expeditions." She stopped, and turned to face the four members of Unity Squad trailing behind her. "Now, its how I make my living." A light flickered overhead, prompting worried glances from the Spartans and ODST.

"It's a rusty tin can," Sergeant Hardy barked through his thick Scottish accent. "Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but I've been here all of five minutes and I'm already worried this bitch'll disintegrate at any moment." The ODST looked around the corridor with a look of severe disdain.

Sorvad flinched at the remark, looking angry at the unwarranted criticism. "_Endeavours_ is in a state of disrepair, yes. However, most critical systems are working as needed."

"_Most… as needed,_" Radio echoed, as Hardy massaged the bridge of his nose. "I like that." Judge shot Radio a silencing glare.

"I don't have the expertise to make repairs, or the income to hire someone to," Sorvad replied exasperatedly. "The state of my ship was listed in my ad. That's part of the reason my price is so low."

"I was aware of the ship's state when I hired you," Judge spoke up. "However, it is necessary that we have it at full operational status."

"Even with your money, I can't afford parts _and_ labor," Sorvad remarked. "Labor alone is a lot now. Ship mechanic's rates have more than doubled since the Covenant War."

"Just figure parts into your expenses. Is it doable?" Judge asked.

"Yes," Sorvad replied cautiously, eyeing the soldiers before her. "I'm guessing one of you is going to do the repair work?"

"Affirmative," Emily suddenly spoke up. "I have the necessary qualifications." The Spartan-IV, who had also been looking around at various objects, looked forward at Sorvad.

After a few seconds, Sarah nodded in agreement. "Okay," she said, "make up a list of things you'll need, and I'll place the order." Emily nodded once.

Sorvad waited a few seconds to ensure the current discussion had concluded, and then raised her hands to gesture to bulkheads on either side of her. "Now," she said, "here are the crew quarters. One side for male, one side for female." A sheepish smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Not that I think you people ever worry about that stuff anyway."

Hardy eyed Emily amusedly. "Better hide your underwear, lass." He winked for effect, but the stoic Spartan-IV showed no reaction. Radio rolled his eyes.

"Where is our first stop?" Sorvad asked Judge, trying to ignore the ODST's harassment.

"Harvest," Judge boomed simply. "We have to retrieve our armor and a small amount of gear." He turned to the rest of his squad, using the chance to segue into an important announcement. "After we pick up our gear, we move on to the next phase of our operation: Intelligence gathering and resource procurement. Weapons, ammo, tools; whatever we can get a hold of that might prove useful, and make this shit-show a little easier."

"I'll do the math tonight and plot us a course for tomorrow," Sorvad remarked, with a worried expression. "Unless you have an A.I., it's the best I can do." She turned and continued walking down towards the bridge of the ship. "Make yourselves at home," she added as she disappeared down the hallway. "And be in the mess hall in two hours."

After Sorvad left, it didn't take Unity Squad long to do a complete once-over of the ship on their own. After inspecting the surprisingly accommodative crew quarters, they took a look around all three floors. With a mental map now drawn in their minds, they could effectively get to wherever they needed in the ship with ease.

The top deck was host to the two-seater bridge at the very tip of the bow, the crew quarters were seated neatly in the middle of the ship right next door to the cryo bay, and an emergency access to the engine room was at the stern. On the middle deck, was a variety of rooms such as the mess hall, an unused but operational science lab, ship computer room, and at the very stern was the engine room. The bottom deck was mostly the cargo bay, with the life support and engineering room at the bow.

It was a strange design to Judge, mostly because he'd spent most of his space borne time in military ships. As far as he could remember, it was Judge's first time in a civilian ship; and to judge, the interior didn't feel right at all. All the necessary, vital components were there, for sure-but unlike in military craft, where the interior was raw and without aesthetic consideration, the _Adventurous Endeavours_ had a fair share of it. Not enough to interfere with ship operation or accessibility, of course; but enough to cover up the fact that Judge was, in fact, in a technological product that could not only hurtle through the galactic void, but actually rip a hole through the very fabric of space.

Two hours had passed quickly, and it wasn't long before the three Spartans and the ODST were present and accounted for in the mess hall. Sorvad wasn't too far behind; and caught the Unity Squad members off-guard by emerging from the mess hall's kitchen. Much to their surprise, Sorvad was carrying a big casserole dish.

"I don't bloody believe it," Hardy proclaimed, as Sarah approached the table. He laughed loudly, giving rise to Sorvad's very pissed-off looking expression. She set the casserole dish on the table loudly and frowned.

"I can't afford a damned cook either," Sorvad said defensively; her Hungarian accent thickening a little. She sat down beside the comparatively giant Emily, and threw disposable plates at everyone.

Radio caught his mid-flight and set it down in front of him, chuckling heartily. "I'm sorry," he said, fighting back laughter. "This just seems… so out-of-place."

"I'm not used to having military personnel on board," Sorvad snarled. "You forget that my usual clientele are civilian. And they're not used to surviving off rations like you people are."

"So you make us a home-cooked meal?" Radio retorted humorously, prompting more chuckles from Hardy. "It sounds like a really good set-up for a joke."

"_So three Spartans and an ODST sit down at a table,_" Hardy mocked, losing his internal struggle to not laugh. At this point, he and Radio were laughing hard.

"That's enough," Judge interjected in a surprisingly quiet tone. Hardy and Radio faded softly back to normal. "I'm sorry Ms. Sorvad. We're not used to working so closely with civilians."

"Yeah," Radio chimed in, sounding a little more respectful. "Just a little friendly nut-punching, that's all. I hope you do see that it's a little absurd though."

Sorvad simply shrugged. "Speak for yourself. You guys are hardly the textbook definitions of your branches either."

Hardy smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment, I guess?" He remarked, reaching for the casserole lid and setting it aside. "Judge, you sure do know how to pick the odd ducks."

Judge, with a completely serious expression, turned to the trooper and said simply, "I know." It took a few seconds to register, before Hardy started chuckling again. "Did you just tell a god damned joke? I'll be damned. I've known you people for almost a week, and you're already the biggest bunch of freaks I've ever met."

Radio grinned smugly. "Welcome to the club. We should have T-shirts." His face lit up with mock-realization. "Oh wait, we do!" he added, pretending to knock on a pretend helmet.

Sorvad semi-smiled, doling out food onto all their plates. "I know it's not much, but I have to buy stuff that keeps for a long time."

"It's great," Emily remarked, examining the contents of her plate. She genuinely smiled at Sorvad, causing everyone to be slightly taken aback. The Spartan-IV managed to be both warm and inviting, and yet still retain that noble Spartan air of someone you didn't want to mess with.

"Hot shit, you can smile," Hardy barked, leaning forward as if to examine a rare artefact. "And here I thought you were a robot." Emily turned to face him, and gave a gentle nod in reply.

"Sometimes, it's easy to forget to enjoy the simple things in life," Emily said to him in a self-reflective tone.

Hardy reflected on the surprisingly philosophical words for a few seconds. "Aye," he replied, nodding his head. He eyed the three Spartans around him. "Like people you can trust."

.

.

.

The trip to Harvest was mostly uneventful, even during the last few days of the journey after everyone thawed out from cryo sleep. There had been plenty of small talk over the last few days; Sorvad seemed to be warming up a little to Unity, and Unity had begun to grow fond of her. Even Judge found her civilian oddities somewhat charming. It also made for good morale-Judge had noted that the general mood, his own included, had been rather positive. However, Judge still couldn't shake the instinct that she was hiding something.

It wasn't until the night before they were scheduled to make landfall at Harvest that he discovered what it was. He had been doing P.T. in the relatively empty cargo hold with the stoic and silent Emily, when he received a summons to the Bridge on the intercom.

He stood outside of the secure bulkhead to the Bridge, and rapped on the solid door. After a couple seconds, there was a very faint hiss as the door receded by a centimetre and gently glided sideways into the wall to his left.

Inside, Sorvad, who had swapped her business suit for civilian pilot's clothes, sat with a serious look on her face. She gave a brief smile when she saw Judge, and politely gestured him inside. Judge, with his sensory skills, knew she was finally ready to discuss the secret she'd been hiding.

"I have a confession to make," she began, gesturing to the empty co-pilot's seat. Judge took her up on the offer and sat down in it. She turned to look at a PDA that was sitting on the dashboard. "You know when we met up back on Arcadia? We met at Pirth's Place?" Sorvad looked at Judge inquisitively. Judge nodded, promoting the conversation along. "The truth is, I had received a message that very morning." She paused for a moment, still deciding on whether it was a good idea to fill Judge in or not. After a few seconds, she continued. "It was a vague email. Until now I wasn't even entirely sure it was intended for you."

Judge thought about that for a moment. "What did this message say?"

"That's what has me confused," Sorvad replied. She pulled up the message on the PDA and showed it to the Spartan-II:

**To: SorvadS**

**Forward this message. When the time is right, you'll know when and to whom. He'll know the password.**

"That's it? That's the message?" Judge wondered aloud.

"There was also an attachment," Sorvad replied. "It's password-protected though. It's also pretty small in file size… only a kilobyte."

Judge mulled this over. He understood why she sat on the message for a while. Even he wasn't entirely sure this random message was for him; if it wasn't for his instinct screaming at him that it was aimed for him, he'd have dismissed it already. However, it was very rare that Judge was wrong about things like this. With no factual evidence to back it, he _knew_ this message was intended for him.

It couldn't be from Hood, Judge new as much; the esteemed Admiral had is own channels, and backup channels, to reach him in case of emergency. Also, it just wasn't the man's style to do cryptic messages. Aside from that, nobody else knew of Judge, or the fact that he was going to meet up with Sorvad that day. He definitely didn't think one of his squadmates leaked anything, as he would've seen the signs in their faces.

And yet, here was a message on the PDA screen, in all of its cryptic glory, practically screaming his name.

"Open the attachment," Judge finally growled quietly. Sorvad clicked on it, and a password prompt appeared on the screen. He pondered the potential passwords for a few seconds, but he already had a pretty good idea of what it was. He typed out the seven-lettered word in the password field:

**Harmony**

He hesitated for a second; knowing that if the password was accepted, it would be irrefutable proof that this mysterious, impossible message was intended for him.

He hit the Enter key, with Sorvad watching nervously.

Sure enough, almost immediately, the screen flashed an '_accepted_' message, and opened the attachment. At first, Judge didn't make sense of what he was seeing; it was a long string of numbers. But then it clicked in his brain that he was looking at interstellar co-ordinates; a long series of numbers that could be fed into a ship's computer to identify a very specific destination.

It appeared that Sorvad knew what she was looking at as well. "Co-ordinates…" she wondered out loud.

"Plug 'em in," Judge boomed. "Let's find out where this is." With a few simple gestures on the PDA's touch screen, Sorvad highlighted the co-ordinate data and copied it into the ship's cartography program.

The ship's computer 'thought' about the co-ordinates for a few moments, as it churned through an entire galaxy's worth of possible locations. Eventually it pulled up a three-dimensional representation of the milky way, with a very faint pinprick representing the entered data's location.

"This is odd," Sorvad remarked, looking extremely confused.

"Why?" Judge asked. Astronomical navigation was not his strong suit.

"Here, I'll show you," Sorvad replied, using hand gestures to zoom in on the detailed location. The 3D projection began a slow, deliberate zoom in on the co-ordinates. She stopped the zoom once the only visible section of the Milky Way Galaxy was the outer half of one of the arms spiralling out from the galaxy's center; that small section alone containing billions of star systems. Judge could now see that the co-ordinates pointed to a position very near the tip of the arm.

Sarah reached back over to her PDA's key pad and typed something in. "This is the odd thing," she said, gesturing back to the 3D map as a blue overlay popped into place. "This is all charted UNSC space."

It didn't take Judge very long to see that the co-ordinates were not located within the boundaries of the overlay.

Sorvad zoomed in again, this time down to the approximate size of a solar system, where the co-ordinates pointed. The map did not have any data listed except for a solitary star in the vicinity of the co-ordinates.

"I see," Judge remarked solemly.

"Looks like fake data to me," Sorvad mused.

"I don't think it is."

Sorvad glanced at Judge. "What makes you think that?"

Judge scanned the co-ordinate data on the PDA screen, and looked back at the listed star data on the 3D map. He thought for a moment. "Co-ordinate data has built-in algorithms to account for interstellar drift and orbit, right?"

"Yeah," Sorvad answered, "Otherwise this stuff would be wildly inaccurate. Why?"

"Let's do some reverse engineering. Can you isolate those algorithms?"

"Yeah." Sorvad's face slowly lit up with understanding. "I get it. You want me to figure out what it is we're looking for."

"Is it doable?"

"Of course. All the necessary information is there, when we account for the star's data as well." Sorvad looked away from the screen to Judge. "This is pretty high-level math though. More than an average pilot is trained to do. You're lucky my father was a scientist."

Judge nodded. "Do it. Let's see if this data is viable or not."

"Alright. It'll take a while, but I should have a good idea by the time you guys pick up your stuff tomorrow."

Judge nodded in agreement, and excused himself from the two-seater Bridge. He made his way down the main corridor to the crew quarters, and rapped three times on the men's quarters bulkhead to summon Hardy and Radio. When it opened up, he gave them a 'form up' gesture with his hand.

He took them down to the empty cargo hold, where Emily was still exercising. He gave her the same 'form up' gesture, which prompted her to drop down from a makeshift pull-up bar and jog over to him.

Hardy, Emily, and Radio stood side-by-side at attention.

"What's up, boss?" Radio asked inquisitively.

Judge picked his words very carefully, as to not imply wrongdoing on his team mate's part. "I received a message. I don't know who from."

"Not your old pal Hood, sir?" Hardy inquired gruffly. Judge shook his head.

"No-one knows about Operation Harmony outside of us four and Hood," Judge answered stiffly. "I didn't leak it. You didn't leak it. Hood didn't leak it." He looked each of his three squad mates in the eye pointedly. "Yet, someone, somewhere, knows an awful lot about it."

"Is the jig up already, sir?" Hardy asked.

"No," Judge answered simply. The Spartan-II gazed out into the empty void of slipspace through the reinforced cargo bay window. "The message was a set of co-ordinates. Co-ordinates definitely intended for us."

"Where?" Radio asked.

"Uncharted space," Judge replied. "Only data for the region is an unnamed star. I'm having Ms. Sorvad extrapolate a rough idea of what we're looking for from the co-ordinate data."

"You can do that?" Radio remarked quietly.

"More importantly, we're actually going to go to there?" Hardy growled harshly. "I don't know the first thing about navigating space ships, but even I can tell it's not a good idea to go flying into uncharted regions of space."

"I agree," Judge replied approvingly. "However, something's out there. Something that I get a strong feeling we're supposed to find."

"If I may ask, what did the message say exactly?" Emily asked softly, her silky, noble voice contrasting the gruff-sounding conversation unfolding.

"Very well," Judge replied. "First, it should be noted that the message was originally sent to Ms. Sorvad, _before_ we hired her. The message said to her to '_forward this message. When the time is right, you'll know when and to whom._' There was an attachment, password-protected, that contained only the co-ordinates mentioned."

"May I know the password, sir?" Emily continued.

"For what reason?"

"With respect, from a psychological standpoint, a password is a powerful symbol in the human mind," Emily explained. Her stoic, silky-smooth voice made it sound oddly philosophical. She continued. "One word is all that separates a person from a hidden secret that could be as small as a personal inquiry, or as big as a nation's weakness." She paused, and Judge nodded for her to continue. "Something of big importance, such as this, and of such mysterious nature, surely had a password chosen very precisely and purposefully. If I know what it is, I can draw an idea as to this message's true purpose."

"Whoa there, Sigmund Freud. Is that even possible?" Radio interjected before Judge could answer.

Emily nodded affirmatively. "If whoever sent this message knows I'm here, even more so."

"As it is your expertise, I defer to your judgement," Judge answered finally. "The password was… _'Harmony._'"

"No offense," Radio said, firing off an apologetic glance to Emily, "but I don't really see any hidden meaning behind that. It's the name of our operation; didn't they simply make it that so that only we could crack it, and make it easy to guess for us at that?"

"You'd be wrong," Emily answered him, without sounding condescending.

"I'd be inclined to agree with Radio on that assessment," Judge chimed in. Radio shot him a thumbs-up. "My instinct tells me that it's a bad assumption however," Judge added, making Radio rotate his thumbs-up into a thumbs-down. "Among other reasons, this is why Emily is in the Squad. I can read people, but she can downright get into their heads."

"Thank you for allowing my input," Emily responded. She closed her eyes, as she let her mind pour over the symbolic password for a little while.

"What does it mean?" Hardy asked impatiently. Emily opened her eyes and stared at Judge with a deadpan expression.

"Whoever sent it, I believe does not know you," Emily explained firmly. "I don't think they'll ever want to, either. Whoever this is, has a position of power. In fact, I suspect they might publicly object to Operation Harmony's goals; and yet support you in secret."

"Someone in ONI?" Judge asked. It was seemingly the only viable answer.

"I don't think so," Emily answered strongly. "If it were, they would act through Hood as a contact to avoid direct interaction. This is far less subtle. About as direct as you can get without forcing our hand."

"Okay," Radio retorted acceptingly, "so it's not ONI. But whoever it is, are definitely trying to help?"

"With certainty," Emily replied. "If they had oppositional intent, there are far more ways to interfere, both subtle and not." She took a deep breath, almost as if meditating. "The password is the biggest sign of that. They chose it not because of our operation, but rather for the concept of it."

"The concept of harmony?" Radio repeated slowly, attempting to understand.

"Yes," Emily confirmed. "Whoever sent this is interested in peace."

"Okay," Hardy remarked loudly. "I can understand at least that whoever sent the co-ordinates wants us to succeed. But why send us out into the middle of friggin' nowhere? What the hell is all the way out in uncharted space that could possibly be of use to us?"

"I don't know," Emily replied matter-of-factly. "That answer falls outside my skillset. What I can tell you is that whatever _is_ out there, is of great significance."

"I can see that, I guess," Radio remarked in defeat. He looked at Judge. "What's the plan?"

Judge looked at Emily carefully, studying her confident face for any signs of doubt. He didn't find any. How she extrapolated based on such limited information was a marvel unto itself, but Judge's instinct agreed with her one hundred percent. There was always the chance they were flying into a trap-acting based on tips was always a gamble.

"We go," Judge decided loudly.


End file.
